


subspace

by coffeeandoranges



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consent Negotiation, Dom/sub Undertones, Hair-pulling, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, a surprising amount of talking, for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 04:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13205703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandoranges/pseuds/coffeeandoranges
Summary: The Grandmaster gets what he wants: Loki- naked, tied up, and drenched in champagne.





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**Author's Note:**

> I don't really go to this fandom but I sure did like Space Jeff Goldblum. Not sure how good the research I did on the Marvel universe was, but uh, attempts were made.

“Mhmm.”

 

The Grandmaster’s tongue pokes out from his lower lip just slightly when he speaks. It breaks the line of makeup running up his chin. Loki tries not to notice.

 

“You _are_ pretty,” the Grandmaster observes. 

 

Loki tries not to blush like a boy, not in front of this… god? Creature? Being? He’s not sure.

 

“Not a fighter,” the Grandmaster says.

 

Loki bristles, ready to tell him just he much he appreciates being underestimated, which is: not at all, but something stops him.

 

“What do you think I am?” He cocks a winning eyebrow. What he hopes is one, anyway.

 

“A Jotun,” says the Grandmaster.

 

_Ah._

 

This creature knows more than he thought.

 

“Far from home,” adds the Grandmaster, whose name, he’s found out, is En Dwi Gast.

 

Loki made it his business to find out.

 

“But don’t worry. Still pretty.”

 

He gives Loki’s cheek two quick pats.

 

“Don’t pout,” says the Grandmaster. “Or—what am I saying?—do. By all means.”

 

Loki shakes his head, blushing uncomfortably, and makes his play.

 

“All I wanted to say,” he says, “is that I’m good company.”

 

He’d had to work to conceal his excitement at how easy this would be—a brilliant, ageless being, surely bored of the cretins around him, probably starving for good conversation.

 

When Gast led him into his _pleasure cruiser_ , an orange-and-white toy with an engine that ticks like an antique clock, Loki had seen his opportunity.

 

Here was his chance-- to talk his way into the good graces of the lord of this strange planet he’d landed on.

 

But the Grandmaster seems to have more in mind than talking. Loki hadn’t expected flirtation, but he always worked with the material he was given, didn’t he?

 

And he _is_ pretty.

 

“A little young for my taste,” says the Grandmaster. “I have to say.”

 

“I’m no child.”

 

“Not physically,” says the Grandmaster.

 

Those painted fingernails trail down the curve of Loki’s chest. “But so willful. What will we do with you?”

 

He tuts his disapproval. Those lips again. Loki can’t stop looking at them.

 

“Hmm?” Gast says, tapping his chest for emphasis.

 

His touch dips below Loki’s navel. Loki feels a twitch in his groin.

 

The Grandmaster laughs.

 

“So _eager_ ,” he says. “Goodness, have they been keeping you locked up? My poor baby.”

 

Loki knows he should be humiliated by this, being baby-talked by the lord of a cosmic trash heap, but he stopped thinking a few minutes ago.

 

And besides, if no one he knows is here to see it, is it even really happening?

 

This must be the appeal of fucking strangers on vacation, he decides. He makes a mental note for the next time he takes over a foreign realm.

 

The Grandmaster withdraws his hand.

 

“Are you paying attention?” he scolds. Then his hand comes up, touching his chin.

 

Then it makes its way into Loki’s hair, those fingers winding around a single black curl.

 

“Luscious, pretty boy,” croons the Grandmaster.

 

The Grandmaster’s hand tightens in his hair.

 

An undignified sound escapes Loki’s throat. He’s flushed to the roots of his hair, and the Grandmaster is leaning in now, pulling Loki toward him, his lips ghosting the shell of Loki’s ear.

 

“I know what we can do.”

 

Loki forces his brain to connect with his voice.

 

“What do you have in mind?”

 

“Angry, willful boy,” says the Grandmaster. “I know all about you.”

 

Some distant part of Loki registers his words: he knows who Loki is.

 

The Grandmaster waves a blue-nailed hand and a pair of manacles are suddenly wrapped around Loki’s ankles, digging into his flesh.

 

The suddenness of it catches him off-balance, and he falls to his knees.

 

“That’s the great thing about this ship,” says the Grandmaster, indicating the interior of the cruiser. “You’re always prepared for whatever happens.”

 

“And believe me,” he adds, while Loki struggles to shift his body into an attractive—and hopefully somewhat dignified—pose.

 

“There have been some good times aboard this fun little toy. One day you’ll see.”

 

The Grandmaster tips up Loki’s chin with one finger.

 

“But not yet,” he says. “I’m not ready to share you yet.”

 

The Grandmaster waves another hand and another pair wrap around Loki’s wrists.

 

Without his hands to steady him, Loki falls forward, his chest meeting his knees.

 

With a swish of his hips—a musky floral fragrance wafting toward Loki that he supposes is perfume-- and a flutter in the fabric of his gold overlay, the Grandmaster produces a bottle out of a mini cooler next to the captain’s seat.

 

“Call me old-fashioned, but I just don’t think the evening is complete without a spot of bubbly.”

 

He pops the cork, the fingers of his other hand curling around the stem of a bell-shaped glass.

 

“You’re awfully quiet,” says the Grandmaster. “I thought you were a talker.”

 

Loki says nothing. The truth is that his sense of—strategy?—is at war with his desire. He can’t deny it: he wants the Grandmaster. Which makes this whole little escapade, all the effort he’d been planning to make to gain some sort of influence over him… a failure.

 

“Does it please you to have me on my knees?” Loki asks.

 

The Grandmaster frowns. “I thought we were all having fun here.”

 

 _Oh no._ That isn’t the effect he wanted to create. He aimed to tease, not bring Gast out of the moment. The Grandmaster must think this is another game he’s won, and Loki the spoils.

 

But Loki only has sex for two reasons: animal gratification, and power.

 

He needs it to be the second, he reminds himself.

 

“You’re still wearing all those clothes.” Gast makes a face. “Not that you aren’t cute!”

 

_Cute?_

 

“But you want me to be utterly yours,” says Loki.

 

Gast smiles. “If you want to. If not, sweetheart, I can just sit here and look at your beautiful face all night.”

 

Gast is doing that thing again, damn him, rolling the tip of his tongue over his lips.

 

Loki is watching Gast intently now. He looks excited, like he’s looking at a present or a cake.

 

“Do you like to work for it?”

 

The Grandmaster laughs. “Only if I know it’s worth it. And trust me, honey. You’re worth it.”

 

The heat returns to Loki’s lower torso. He throws on a glamour to make it look like he’s torn off his clothes.

 

Gast waves an appreciative hand at Loki’s body. “ _God_ ….Literally! You’re like a god.”

 

Loki expects Gast will take some time to enjoy the view, but instead he comes closer.

 

The Grandmaster is bending down so their faces are level. Then Gast brings up his hand beside Loki’s cheek, close, almost touching. Not quite. That sends a shiver through him.

 

Loki’s skin picks up his nearness. Every fiber of him wants to bridge the gap, to meet skin with skin.

 

But not yet.

 

“What is _this_? What are you doing to me?”

 

It takes him a moment, but Loki realizes – Gast is talking about the glamour. He’d put it up instinctively, wanting to give Gast another puzzle to solve.

 

“Making you work for it,” Loki says.

 

The Grandmaster hisses through his teeth and stands up. Loki feels a piercing sensation in his chest as the Grandmaster moves away.

 

“Okay, my turn to ask questions, Jotun,” Gast says, taking a sip of champagne.

 

“How did you know I was a Jotun?” Loki blurts out.

 

“Not following instructions!” The Grandmaster holds out an accusing finger. “I ask the questions. And a friend told me you shifted to your other form right before you ended up here.”

 

Loki makes a mental note to find the “friend.”

 

“Anyway, Jotun,” says the Grandmaster. “What’s with the playing hard-to-get?”

 

“One more step and I’ll be naked. And what would I entice you with then?”

 

The Grandmaster smirks.

 

“You want control,” he says.

 

His voice drops. “But you need to lose it more than anything.”

 

A weight loosens in Loki’s stomach. His hands and feet are going numb. It’s not the manacles. It’s his own body responding—a reaction he hadn’t expected Gast to draw out of him.

 

“Don’t think I don’t know a few tricks too, baby,” says Gast. “There’s a reason I got to the top of this trash heap.”

 

“I’d give you some of this bubbly but then I’d be taking advantage of some young thing and I’m not that bad.”

 

“Oh, I want that,” says Loki suddenly. “I just don’t want to _drink_ it.”

 

Gast’s eyes flicker back to Loki’s face.

 

“Pour it over me. After I take off the glamour.”

 

“What an imagination.” The Grandmaster’s grin spreads across his face, cat-like and indulgent.

 

Oh, Loki imagines.

 

He imagines the Grandmaster fucking him, tongue rolling over Loki’s nipples like hard candy.

 

Loki’s jaw drops open in want.

 

The Grandmaster kisses him, the glamour dropping the moment he hits skin.

 

Gast’s lips are cool and dry, but Loki’s face is burning. Gast kisses him as if Loki—just his mouth—is all he wants, all he came here for. He tastes like champagne and something peppery.

 

His hands reach around to Loki’s hair. Fingers sink into black curls.

 

And pull.

 

_“God.”_

 

That’s Loki this time. A sound from deep in his throat, which Gast is putting his mouth on now, having left Loki’s mouth and lowered his lips to the base of Loki’s neck.

 

His tongue rolls upward, licking his collarbone, teasing the hollow of his throat, running over his Adam’s apple.

 

“Champagne,” Loki says. “I want the champagne.”

 

His voice is hoarse.

 

He feels misty still, as if he’s half caught in glamour. His mind has gone silent, waiting to see what happens.

 

The Grandmaster’s teeth sink into Loki’s jaw. “Bossy.”

 

He hears the Grandmaster get up and cork the bottle, shaking it to restore its bubbles. They look bright and iridescent against the glass.

 

Loki knows he’s gone. He’s naked and his erection stands, open, vulnerable.

 

The Grandmaster will not allow himself to look yet. Instead he puts on his gamesmaster’s smile.

 

“It’s a party!” he says. The cork pops.

 

Loki tips his head back as the contents spray over him, dripping into the corners of his lips, running down his chin. Champagne seeps into his hair.

 

He licks his lips, tasting. It’s silky, heady.

 

“Greedy little pet,” says the Grandmaster’s voice. Loki can’t see. His eyes are shut, and burning. “Do you like that?”

 

“I do,” Loki breathes.

 

The Grandmaster combs through Loki’s drenched hair and pats his shoulders.

 

His touch is full of an odd gentleness that leaves Loki dizzy.

 

“Yes, we’ll have some fun. Would you like that, my toy?”

 

Loki can only nod.

 

“I’d tell you to get up, but you seem so comfortable there.”

 

Loki can’t see the Grandmaster smirking, but he can hear it.

 

He doesn’t know what the Grandmaster is planning, but his body is ready now, already slick with the drops that warn of coming orgasm.

 

“You know,” says the Grandmaster. “As much fun as I’ve had with this pretty baby….”

 

Loki hears the captain’s chair swivel—the Grandmaster is spinning it around, to face Loki. It takes him a moment to realize he’s talking about the ship.

 

“….I’ve never been sucked off in the captain’s chair.”

 

There is the clink of the champagne bottle as the Grandmaster refills his glass.

 

“Isn’t that just insane? What an oversight. You’d think it would be the first thing I did.”

 

One of those hands with their blue painted nails cups Loki’s chin for a moment.

 

Then the Grandmaster is gone again, not touching Loki, those hands now fiddling with the radio.

 

He winces as the first song comes on, a personalized ode to the Grandmaster for his birthday.

 

“As much as I wish this was a birthday blowjob,” says Gast. "Two months too soon."

 

Still holding his champagne, the Grandmaster’s eyes close and he sways his hips in time to the beat, a new song he’s put on now, slower.

 

The champagne has cleared from his eyes now and Loki can see the tall, lean lines of Gast’s body. Straight except for the hips: those are curiously wide for most masculine gender expressions. Movement breaks like a wave over his thin frame as he dances. 

 

He struts toward Loki and then settles in the captain’s chair, spreading his long legs.

 

“What do you think?”

 

Loki is barely capable of speech—the misty feeling, stealing his brain again--but he inclines his head. Some hideous vulnerable sound escapes his lips, but Gast doesn’t seem to notice.

 

“Please. I want--”

 

The Grandmaster pulls down his pants.

 

Loki gasps.

 

And rolls his neck, lascivious, sending his hair flying. As expected, Gast catches it in his grip.

 

And pulls up.

 

_Hard._

 

The sheer force of it lifts Loki’s knees. He feels his ankles lift from the manacles. The instability of the position presses his toes into the floor. Pain is shooting up his heels.

 

“I want to be yours,” he says. “Your pet. I’ll do -- anything you want.”

 

Every muscle in his body calls: _surrender_. This is it: the edge of the ecstatic drop into subspace.

 

This is as far in as he’s ever been—and he’s barely even touched Gast.

 

The Grandmaster’s hands might rip out his hair at the roots. Loki suppresses another shudder.

 

“My pet. My pet. I want you to suck my cock.”

 

Anyone else, it would have been a snarl. But the Grandmaster’s tone is light. As if he’s ordering from a menu. _The special, please, emphasis on the cock._

 

Loki laughs and his head swims.

 

The Grandmaster’s dick is in front of him. Loki's body cries out for attention in its own right, the delayed orgasm building into pain. But he can’t focus on that now. A wall separates him from his own body even as his senses sharpen.

 

Loki licks his lips. The skin of his cock looks dry, though clear liquid is pooling in the tip. 

 

He slides his tongue into the groove, too hungry to wait.

 

Above him Gast lets out a long sigh.

 

Loki’s body is tingling, all the way down to his feet. Goosebumps raise the hair on his arms and chest—with champagne over him he’s quite cold. His nipples stiffen.

 

The Grandmaster grips his hair and drives his dick deeper into Loki’s mouth.

 

The bridge of his nose presses into Gast’s stomach.

 

The man smells like sex. Loki inhales as best he can. He glances up at the Grandmaster. He wants to see his face. And sure enough, his payout: the other man’s gaze, clear and hard, like he’s concentrating.

 

He’s seen that look before in other beings who tried to dominate him ( _tried_ because none have played him so well as this), and it piques his curiosity every time.

 

He’s never been in Gast’s role. He doesn’t know what it feels like to sit in that chair and receive. But he knows it’s different than what he feels.

 

The fantasy is enough, for now.

 

Loki feels like he might burst.

 

But there is no time for that, not when he has the Grandmaster’s cock in his mouth. His eyes fill with tears as he tries to go deeper, to get more of Gast inside of him. He comes up for air only to tamp down the hair on his balls with his tongue.

 

“You are greedy,” the Grandmaster breathes. “Gods, you want everything.”

 

Loki feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

 

“I do,” says Loki.

 

He wants to ask the Grandmaster if it was all worth the wait, this, if he’d teased him to _just_ the right moment—but Gast’s body does his talking for him.

 

He’s getting closer. Tremors run down the plane of his stomach.

 

Loki’s tongue works the sides of the Grandmaster’s cock, each drop of his arousal soft and pearl-like in his mouth, decadent somehow, enough to make Loki forget the screaming in his knees that comes despite the plush carpet.

 

An intake of breath above him makes Loki goes in for the kill.

 

Loki drives his cock deep again into the back of his mouth, into the curve at the back of his throat.

 

And he feels it start—

 

“Ah,” the Grandmaster says as he comes. A release.

 

It’s a sound Loki files away. Something to savor, something he would like to hear again.

 

He feels Gast’s body go slack against his cheek as he swallows.

 

“Oh my gods,” says Gast.

 

Gast crumples around him, threading his hands through Loki’s hair, pressing lips to his jawline. Loki wonders if he should ask for what he wants -- if Gast will even need to touch him.

 

“Please,”  Loki says, mouth full of come.

 

The Grandmaster hesitates a moment, still lost in the bliss of orgasm. Then he pats the side of Loki’s head.

 

“Alright, pet,” he says at last. “I will give you this.”

 

He shifts in his chair as if to get up—but Loki shakes his head.

 

“Just— your hands.”

 

That’s all he wants. Those painted fingers around the tip of his cock. Won’t take much more than that—not by now.

 

“My hands?”

 

“You have beautiful hands.”

 

The compliment tumbles out of him.

 

“You are a sweet boy,” says the Grandmaster. “Stand up.”

 

Loki does as he asks, his ankles still chained and his body announcing his desire.

 

His knees creak as he rises.

 

The Grandmaster reaches out, lightly tracing Loki’s lower belly with the nails on his left hand. Loki feels his muscles tighten. 

 

“You’re going to make a mess,” says the Grandmaster lazily.

 

He wears a half-smile as his hands reach lower.

 

Loki looks down, at Gast’s hands stroking him, at the blue nails on skin, and comes into the Grandmaster’s hands.

 

 

 

“Let’s do this again,” says the Grandmaster.

 

He’s pulled Loki into his lap; Loki’s forgotten to complain.

 

“I’m free—whenever,” Loki says.

 

“So am I,” says the Grandmaster. “This is my planet, after all.”

 

He tilts his head, studying Loki.

 

“And you’re not going anywhere, are you?”

 

Well, for now, at least, he supposes he's not.

 

 


End file.
